Reading 'If'

I sit down and watch Mike Bassett recite
Rudyard Kipling’s ‘If’ in the face of adversity
and hostility from the butchers that are the
British football press. The fact this film is
a work of fiction makes no difference
as I listen to the fight in his voice and
the will to keep going, even when all
hope was lost in the typical mediocrity
of his side’s lacklustre performances.
Then I remember an old possession of mine,
so I go upstairs and dust off the poetry book
a friend who shares my birthday bought
for me when we both turned 21. I flick through
the pages, searching for Kipling’s much
acclaimed ‘If’, and I read that poem
- and all the promises it makes in exchange
for courage, wisdom and patience - and I
come to realise that the ifs he speaks of
are cannots for me. It is then I walk to
the bathroom, all alone in the overbearing
heat of my house, and splash water on my face,
wanting to be both realistic and optimistic,
but failing to find a balance between the two like
Kipling did in writing his poem and Basset did in
reading it before the media hounds - salivating at his
apparent demise - with such resolute determination.
And it is then I meet my own gaze in the
bathroom mirror and goad the self I see -
an irritable shadow of the figure I once was -
in a futile attempt at reverse psychology:
“I dare you to be happy.”